


Protect Clan Lavellan

by likelyvalentine (nokkakona)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 11:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7221169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nokkakona/pseuds/likelyvalentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Lavellan who suffers from panic attacks reacts badly to losing his clan. Dorian is there to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protect Clan Lavellan

**Author's Note:**

> Written with my my anxious archer Faelan Lavellan in mind. I killed his clan my first playthrough without realising it (since there's no reaction) and this was the result. Leave kudos if you like it, or comment if you have anything to say! <3

Night had settled over Skyhold, taking with it the burning bright of the day. It was quieter now; Faelan's head, for once, was clear. No drugs, no drinking, no dust. But he still couldn't sleep. There was an itch in the back of his head, twisting and twirling in his hands, waiting to be released. The night was so quiet, but Faelan didn't like the quiet. It gave him time to think.

There was a letter from Leliana on the bedside table. Faelan had been waiting for it for days. His insomnia had grown worse since he heard of the noble plot to injure his people. All to get back at him- and for what? Falling out of the Fade? Being a Dalish Andrastian? Usurping the human sanctity of their precious Chantry? Faelan had looked at the letter, seen its red nightingale seal, and ignored it. He didn't have enough dust to deal with the contents of the letter. His hands were still shaking from the fight with the fear demon at Adamant. His head hadn't been working right, and now Hawke was gone, and Varric couldn't even look at him.

Staring at the letter wasn't making it go away, so Faelan shut his eyes and laid back on his bed. The Inquisition had done well in this room, but tonight its grandiose pleasures were intangible. The bed sunk underneath him, conforming to his shape, but he didn't really comprehend the embrace. All he could feel was the anticipation of a memory clawing at his chest, reaching inside and weakening his lungs. _Not this again..._ he thought. He didn't have enough dust for the letter, and he certainly didn't have enough for one of his attacks.

Three sharp knocks came from the upstairs door. They burst into his head, scattering whatever trappings of control had remained. Faelan's heart vibrated through his entire body. He could feel the blood pumping through his fingertips. The knocks came again, and Faelan dug his fingers into the bed sheets. He couldn't breathe, and everything was swirling, but he forced himself to sit up. He was the Inquisitor, and the world needed his attention.

"Yes?"

Footsteps approached, and the world put a hand on his shoulder. "Faelan! You won't believe what Varric just told me about our exalted Lady Seek- why, you look positively ill. Are you feeling all right?"

Faelan managed to quantify Dorian's face among the pool of blackness that surrounded him. "So worried. I'm fine," he smiled. His voice broke.

"If by 'fine' you mean about to fall over, then, yes, you are." Faelan's eyes fluttered shut. Dorian caught him as he slumped over, sitting down on the bed beside him. For a moment, Faelan could feel his own body again. He clung to the silky feel of Tevinter tailoring against his shoulder, the steady but damp hand that held his wrist. The black in his vision suddenly reminded him of smoke. Had Dorian been playing with fire again? "Well, I always imagined you falling into my arms, but I didn't think this was quite how it would happen."

Faelan smiled in spite of himself. His tongue itched to respond, but his mind was still swimming. He managed a chuckle. It bubbled over into a cough, and just like that, the panic gripped him again. His breath shallowed and Dorian began to disappear again.

"Are you hurt? Shall I get someone?" Dorian asked, starting to stand up. Faelan's eyes popped open. He clung to Dorian's robes, shaking his head.

"Don't get anyone," he managed. "This- it's nothing, please." He couldn't feel his fingers just like he couldn't feel the tired lie on his tongue. _I'm okay, Dorian. You know me, I'll be fine- I always am._ Usually, he could get the words out.

It felt like an eternity before Dorian spoke again. "All right." Faelan's fingers loosened. He looked down at his lap, barely feeling it when the bed compressed beside him once more.

"Care to talk?"

"Me? Talk? Never," Faelan tried, but his smile was still shaky. He swallowed. "Thanks. For not-"

"Don't mention it."

"When I said it was nothing... I meant it's nothing new."

"You've had these attacks before?"

Faelan bit his lip. "It's like being touched by a Terror. I can't breathe, I can't think-" He shut his eyes briefly. Dorian squeezed his hand. "I can't fight Corypheus like this." His voice rose a few octaves. "I'm so fucking scared all the time." Tears blurred the room.

Dorian took Faelan's chin gently and forced him to make eye contact. There was a smile on his face- reassuring, relaxed. Faelan wanted to sink into it. "You don't have to be scared right now," he said. "I'm here."

Faelan bit his lip. He wanted to laugh, to tell Dorian that he appreciated it, but that he couldn't save him from his demons. He wanted to convince Dorian to leave. _It's this insidious turnip smell- it's making me light headed. I just need to lay down._

"There you go," Dorian said, allowing Faelan to collapse against him.

"Dorian, will you.... will you stay?" The words were oft-spoken, but this time they felt warmer. There was no promise or presumption of more.

"You need not ask, amatus."


End file.
